


I Just Called to Say I Tolerate You

by withthepilot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awesome Pepper Potts, Character Death Fix, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Fix-It, Humor, Man Out of Time, Multi, Steve Rogers Feels, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, Steve exiles himself to Brooklyn, happy to be separated from the Avengers and the ghosts of the recent past. But with Clint crawling through his window every night and Tony's face on the news haunting him, he's never quite alone with his thoughts. When Tony and Pepper return to New York after the disaster in Malibu, everything Steve thought was true begins to change drastically. Also, Fury lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Called to Say I Tolerate You

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during and after the events of _Iron Man 3_ from Steve's POV. I got the idea when I imagined Cap watching Tony ranting on the news and being like, "…SIIIIGH." And then once I started writing it, he revealed all of his feels to me. _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ didn't _completely_ joss the story, but, well, a little. So never mind all that stuff. 
> 
> Thanks so much to [starsandgraces](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgraces), who, as always, is a kind and benevolent beta, and to [race_the_ace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/race_the_ace), who made a marvelous fanmix and digital art. You can find the mix at [her livejournal](http://race-the-ace.livejournal.com/244563.html), along with some beautiful art. She also made a fic banner (see below) that references one of my favorite parts of the story—it still cracks me up every time I look at it. Please be sure to check out her work and show her some love.

A lot has changed about New York since Steve left it, but not the hot dogs. Hot dogs are still plentiful, with street vendors on practically every corner. Steve indulges often, just for the sake of doing something that feels familiar. Of course, he hands over a lot more money now in exchange for those hot dogs. It annoys him, the sky-high prices of—well, _everything_ , but he understands inflation. It's not everyone else's fault that he missed seventy years' worth.

He's finishing a hot dog, it turns out, when he first sees Tony Stark barge his way onto a news program, announcing his full address to the entire planet. He pauses in his midday walk to stand among a group of people watching the mess unfold on the giant screen in Times Square. There's a trace of spicy mustard in the corner of Steve's mouth, burning his lips.

"Hey, isn't that your buddy?" someone says, nudging Steve's side. Steve rolls his eyes, half in response to the question and half in a gut reaction to the sight of Tony's wide, manic glare.

"I guess so," he says. It's a lie, but a lie that doesn't matter, not when it comes to a random stranger.

"You ask me, I think he's got a screw loose," the man says. "You gotta be crazy to go flying out into space like that with a bomb on your back."

Steve glances back up at the screen, squints against the sun peeking between the surrounding skyscrapers, and sighs heavily. "He saved all of our lives."

The man shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. Hey, would you sign my Metrocard?"

Steve looks down at the proffered piece of plastic and the Sharpie marker that the man just happens to have on his person. Before he knows it, he spends the next twenty-five minutes giving out autographs in the middle of Times Square.

When he comes home, Clint is on the couch, watching something that looks like it's from Steve's era, if the black and white is any indication.

"Hey, Cap," Clint says. Steve has grown accustomed to coming home and finding Clint there, watching Steve's television and eating Steve's food. As if there isn't enough to eat in Stark Tower—or, rather, Avengers Tower. Clint hangs his head off the back of the cushions. "Where'd ya go? What'd ya see? What'd ya do?"

"I had a hot dog," Steve says, locking the door. He joins Clint on the couch and rubs idly at his thighs. "What's this?"

"You and your hot dogs. It's an episode of _The Twilight Zone_. Don't tell me you've never heard of it." Clint shakes his head in disbelief when Steve shrugs at him. "Man. I thought this would be totally up your alley, with the black and white and all. I can't believe you missed _The Twilight Zone_."

"I kind of missed _everything_ , Clint."

"Tell me about it. It's a goddamn travesty." He motions to the television with the remote control. "This is the one where Bill Shatner's on a plane and he sees this gremlin on the wing. He tries to warn everyone about it but no one else can see it, so they think he's crazy."

Steve nods thoughtfully. He can't help but think back to Tony raving like a lunatic on the news, acting as though he was prepared to fight the entire world, chest bared and knuckles bloodied. Not for the first time, Steve feels a sense of relief that he declined to live in Stark Tower with the rest of the Avengers. There's something about Tony that Steve finds unsettling, even after everything that's happened. Even after he saved all their lives. He drums his fingers on his knees and tries to put it out of his mind.

"Who's Bill Shatner?" he finally asks.

"Oh, my _god_ ," Clint groans. " _Star Trek_? No one ever explained _Star Trek_ to you?"

Steve plucks the remote from his hand without missing a beat. "Let's watch the news," he says.

*

He hasn't spoken to Tony since he turned down that offer to live in Tony's extravagant palace in the sky. Admittedly, Steve could have handled it better. Tony kept insisting on how grand it would be—he was offering each of the Avengers their own floor, for crying out loud—and how Steve was a celebrity now, so he might as well be living a celebrity's lifestyle. It was all too showy for Steve. As nice as it was to be a part of a team again, he craved some degree of anonymity. S.H.I.E.L.D. had already offered to set him up in a modest apartment in his old Brooklyn neighborhood and that sounded a hell of lot more comforting and familiar than living in a gargantuan, ugly, and unmistakably phallic (as Natasha described it) target for aliens, terrorists, and all other types of evildoers. He appreciated Tony's offer but it probably didn't come off that way. In fact, he was fairly dismissive when the time came. And it didn't help matters that everyone else on the team accepted Tony's invitations, leaving Steve as the only Avenger not living in Avengers Tower—aside from Thor, who went back to Asgard but who has an entire floor waiting for him if he ever wants it. A publicity agent called Steve on the phone one day and lectured him about wasting such a golden opportunity. Steve listened for a while before he realized he had no desire to hire or speak to an agent whatsoever, and then he hung up on the guy.

That was six months ago and Tony hasn't spoken to him since. Tony would never say as much, but Steve is pretty sure that he hurt the guy's feelings.

Clint lives in Avengers Tower but he's hardly ever there. Mostly he's doing ops for S.H.I.E.L.D. or hanging out at Steve's place, eating his snacks and hogging his television. Steve doesn't mind; he likes Clint and having the company is nice. Sometimes it gets too quiet for Steve's liking—he had peace and quiet for decades, all the silence he'll ever need—and Clint is the perfect antidote for that, always yammering away about something, whether it's Bill Shatner (the guy from _Star Trek_ , apparently) or the new Doritos Locos Tacos (whatever those are; Steve doesn't understand any of those words individually nor strung together) or how Bruce never remembers when it's his turn to buy the Lactaid milk (he and Clint are both lactose intolerant and darn it, but Clint always remembers when it's _his_ turn).

The one thing Clint never talks about is the Battle of New York. And the one person he never talks about is Phil Coulson. From what Steve has gathered, the two of them had a burgeoning…thing going on, before that whole nightmare happened. Now Coulson is dead, along with all the people Clint had a hand in dispatching on Loki's behalf, and Clint crawls up Steve's fire escape almost every night, looking for a friendly distraction. Steve wonders if there's something at Avengers Tower that spooks him. The building itself was the site of a lot of carnage. Plus, Natasha lives there, and for all that she remains tight-lipped about her own feelings, Steve knows that the woman has the uncanny ability to look anyone in the eye and turn him into a babbling, emotional snot bucket. If he were Clint, he'd want to take measures to avoid her, too.

So Clint doesn't talk about it and Steve doesn't ask. Clint returns the favor by not asking about the war or Bucky or any other sore spot, Tony Stark included. And that suits Steve fine—until the day Tony's Malibu home gets attacked, and the only survivors on the news that night are a dark-haired young woman and a tearful, disbelieving Pepper Potts. Steve sits on his couch, frozen in place, watching it all as shuddering, icy horror gathers deep in his gut.

Clint climbs through the window with a grunt, landing on both feet. "Goddamn. You know where I don't recommend you go on vacation this time of year? Or, actually, ever? Guatemala. I think they raise disgruntled snipers on farms down there. And not free range, either. Those fuckers are _mad_." He pauses when he sees the stricken look on Steve's face, his own expression shifting to stoic concern. "Okay, what happened?"

Steve blinks out of his daze and motions to the television with the remote. "It's…um. It's Tony. He…died?"

Clint cocks his head. "Are you not sure about that?"

"He died," Steve says again, more definitively, as Clint sits beside him. "They're saying so on the CNN."

"CNN is never right about anything," Clint says. But then they watch the footage of the attack and the aftermath. While it's a miracle that Pepper and the other woman survived, it becomes clear, looking at all that rubble, that any other survivors would have emerged by now, and… "Okay, wow." Clint exhales loudly. "I, uh. I'd better call Fury about this. See if he needs me to do anything. I dunno what, but you know, just in case."

"Right," Steve says. He barely registers Clint standing and walking away from the couch to make his phone call. He's too fixated on the footage, replaying the destruction over and over again. Steve wonders distantly about this new world he lives in and how easy it's become to document disaster. Everyone, even him, is desensitized to the worst-case scenario. But as he watches Tony's world crumbling to bits, with Tony likely trapped inside the rubble, he can't help but remember the firm clench of Tony's jaw when Steve rejected him and his offer for the final time; Tony's dark, darting eyes looking everywhere but directly at him. It feels like a Chitauri soldier socking him in the stomach. Like losing his grip on someone who needed him to hang on tight, just a little longer.

"Cap," he hears after a while. It's Clint, standing above him with a box of Kleenex. "You need a tissue?"

The question makes him aware of the tears rimming his eyes and he takes a tissue with a jerky nod, dabbing at his face. "Why am I crying?" he asks. "I didn't know him for very long. He was no one to me, really."

"He was part of your team," Clint says. He sits down heavily and frowns at the television, trying to gather his next words. "I think we both know how fucked up it feels. You know…to lose a fellow soldier."

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, so he squeezes Clint's shoulder and then leaves his hand there. Clint lets him.

*

At eleven o'clock in the morning, standing in his kitchen, Steve is about to press the dial button on his phone when a hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes, just this side of too tight. It's a petite hand.

"Nope," Natasha says. She uses her other hand to pluck the phone out of Steve's grip.

"But I was just going to—"

"I know what you were going to do. And we're under strict orders to stay out of it."

"Orders from who?" Steve asks, even though he knows and Natasha _knows_ he knows. She doesn't have to answer because at that moment, Clint tumbles into the apartment via the open living room window. He stands and dusts off his thighs with a pout.

"How'd you beat me here? I left the tower before you."

Natasha says nothing in response, just smiles wryly and lets Steve go. "Strict orders," she repeats, offering his phone back.

"That was rude," Steve says. Natasha makes quick eye contact with him, and he can tell that means she's sorry. He forgives her. Hell, he's never been able to stay mad at Natasha or any beautiful woman for too long. Still, the whole situation is exasperating—and that doesn't even count Clint already sticking his head in the fridge, rummaging around. Steve sighs when a loaf of Wonder Bread and a jar of peanut butter make an inevitable appearance on the kitchen island. "Can't a friend just call another friend when she's grieving, to offer his condolences?"

Clint and Natasha both shoot Steve surprised looks, probably at his use of the word "friend." Okay, maybe he and Pepper aren't exactly friends. He likes her and respects her, though. Any person who can singlehandedly run Stark Industries while also keeping Tony in line probably deserves a medal of honor. Steve can't get Pepper out of his head: her bereaved expression, her tear-streaked cheeks. He knows he can't do anything to help her, not really, but he wants to do _something_.

"That's sweet of you, Cap," Natasha says. "But Fury gave us the scoop. Stark and Pepper are on their own with this one."

Steve lifts his head. "What do you mean, Stark and Pepper? Stark is dead…isn't he?"

"Noooope," Clint says, spreading peanut butter thickly onto a slice of bread. "He escaped, which, honestly, I had a feeling about. Tony's fucking slippery. He's off somewhere seeking redemption or whatever, making friends with little kids. Where'd Fury say he was, Tash?"

"Tennessee."

Clint laughs. "Oh, right! Probably the last place he expected to end up. Man."

Steve knows he's looking at them as though they're crazy but he can't help it. Clint and Natasha are _crazy_.

"How can you be so nonchalant about this? Tony is—was—he was supposed to be dead, and now suddenly he's alive and in _Tennessee_? How does Fury even know this?"

Natasha shrugs. "He's Fury. He's in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D. They have eyes everywhere."

"Everywhere you want to be," Clint adds. "Like Visa."

"What?" Steve blinks and sits down on a kitchen barstool, rubbing his hands over his face. Despite being told in such a haphazard way, the knowledge that Tony is alive and well and hanging out in Tennessee is a huge relief. It lifts a weight from Steve's shoulders that he didn't realize he was carrying. His legs feel a little wobbly. "Okay, so…he's alive. That's good. That's great, actually." He takes a deep breath to steel himself. "So let's go find him."

"Cap, we _can't_ ," Natasha says. "Fury's orders, like I said."

"I don't care. He's one of ours. Doesn't that mean anything anymore? He's an Avenger; he's part of my _team_."

Natasha steps forward, her eyes narrowed. "And your team was put together to save the world, not each other."

Steve blinks in disbelief, rising from his stool. Clint looks up from where he sits, his rapid chewing slowing down as he takes in what's happening. Steve isn't going to do anything rash; he couldn't. But those are Fury's words coming out of Natasha's mouth, not her own. He doesn't have to listen.

"That's malarkey," he says between gritted teeth. "You know it and I know it." Behind Natasha, he can see Clint mouthing, _malarkey?_

"I want to help as much as you do, but—"

"Clearly not."

"I know you care about him. We do, too."

"Enough," Steve says, marching toward the door. "I'll find him myself." He grabs his leather jacket and pulls it on, about to undo the locks even though he feels like ripping the door right off its hinges. His world is narrowed and off-kilter, angry static clanging in his ears, when Natasha's voice cuts right through everything, shouting at him—

"STEVEN!"

He stops. Every part of him, every whirring thought just stops. He leans forward to rest his forehead against the cold, painted metal door, taking some time to just pause and breathe, pause and breathe.

Then he punches a large dent into the door. Because he can. And because it's the _only_ thing he can do.

"Do you feel better now?" Natasha deadpans behind him.

"Not really," Steve admits.

She walks up to him and takes his shaking hand into her own. He's surprised when her touch makes the trembling stop. He squints down at Natasha and has a flash memory of giving her that boost, so she could hitch a ride with the Chitauri squadron. Tossing her up in the air like that—it was like nothing. She was so light. Steve wonders, not for the first time and probably not for the last, how Natasha can be so small and yet twice as strong as him.

She tuts and turns his hand over. "Your knuckles are bleeding."

"They'll heal."

"You know I would be right there with you if we could go," she says, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "But Stark needs to handle this on his own. And he will. We can't get in the middle."

Steve slumps against the door and exhales. "I just feel so…useless. Ever since the battle ended, ever since I got here. I feel useless."

Natasha nods and rubs the back of his hand with her thumb. There's a brief silence before Clint clears his throat, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Well, if you really wanted to make yourself useful, you could always go food shopping. All that's in your fridge is this Wonder Bread and a half-eaten can of tuna. Between this and all the street vendor hot dogs you eat, I think the serum is the only thing keeping you from getting scurvy."

"And," Natasha adds, "as Fury would point out, we didn't pull you out of a seventy-year ice bath just so you could end up dying of scurvy."

"Well, he'd throw a few more expletives in there," Clint says.

"True." 

Steve can't help but smile, just a little bit. "Supermarkets confuse me. There are too many choices."

Clint slips off his stool. "Then Cap, my man, get out your fancy S.H.I.E.L.D. debit card, because we are going to take you on a guided tour of Whole Foods."

"But I don't have a—" He's interrupted when Natasha whips out a navy-colored plastic card and hands it to him. It has Steve's name on it and everything.

"Fury wants you to get apples, carrots, and bananas," she says. "Not to mention a shitload of protein."

Steve scoffs. "Don't tell me he's got my apartment bugged, too."

"Well, it's a very handsome and talented bug," Clint says. "Really good with a bow and arrow." He gives Steve an apologetic shrug. "The bug promises to make us a kickass lasagna later to make up for it."

Steve can't really argue with that. He shakes his head and pockets the debit card. "Okay, fine. Let's go to Holed Foods."

"Whole Foods."

"Whatever."

*

It takes a lot of willpower to follow Fury's orders, but Steve does as he's told and stays in New York. Clint and Natasha distract him with marathon sessions of bizarre TV shows (Steve is no style maven but even he has no idea what the _Project Runway_ judges are thinking, sometimes) and they make sure he stays fed. Sometimes they go to the movies together and Steve cringes every time at how loud it is, which always makes Clint laugh. Steve also makes time to visit the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility gym every day, where he pounds on the punching bags and tries to forget that he's not needed anymore, now that Loki is gone and Tony can apparently "handle things on his own."

Natasha had pointed out that Steve cares about Tony and Steve wonders when that became the case. Was it when they worked together to keep the helicarrier from falling out of the sky? Was it when Tony selflessly hauled a bomb into the outer reaches of space to save New York City, not knowing if he'd make it back alive? Maybe it was because Tony reminded Steve of Howard, with all that self-confidence and bravado keeping their shoulders squared, no matter what. With Tony, it veered toward braggadocio, obnoxious at the best of the times. Still, for whatever reason, Steve doesn't want to see the guy get hurt.

In the end, though, Natasha turns out to be right, and Tony's "redemption" story wraps up fairly quickly. They're all called into headquarters for a debriefing, where Steve learns about this Extremis thing and how Pepper is currently being treated for it, with Tony's help.

"Guess she was too busy to take your call anyway," Clint whispers to Steve at the table. Steve nods and clenches his jaw. He still thinks it was reckless of Fury to leave Tony and Pepper on their own, and to not to let the others help. Now Pepper's life is in danger when they could have prevented it.

Fury pauses when he sees Steve's expression. "You got something to say, Rogers?"

"Just one question, sir," Steve replies, swallowing down what he really wants to say. "Do we have permission to contact Stark and Ms. Potts?"

"Yes, I suppose. But Stark is scheduled to undergo surgery soon, to remove the shrapnel in his chest."

Clint furrows his brow. "Couldn't he have done that a long time ago?"

"I think he grew attached to it," Natasha says.

"Out of curiosity," Steve says, tilting his head. "When will that surgery take place?"

An actual straight answer out of Fury finds Steve sitting in a hospital waiting room two weeks later, his jacket and scarf folded and draped across his lap. He's alone, since Clint and Natasha are off on some kind of secret mission somewhere, and Bruce is in South America, helping out Doctors Without Borders. Steve sits silently, nodding and smiling occasionally at someone who recognizes him, until he spies Pepper crossing the room toward the vending machine.

"Ms. Potts," Steve says, standing up and catching her attention. She turns and gives him the most radiant smile he's seen in an age. She looks incredibly healthy, considering how sick she was—if you could call being infected with that Extremis stuff a "sickness." Steve takes a moment to admire how perfectly coiffed she is in her expensive, tailored clothes, not a hair on her head out of place.

"Captain Rogers," she says. Steve pauses when he gets close to her and they have an awkward moment of shifting around before she reaches up for a hug. He's more than happy to oblige her. The embrace is warm and comforting. "I'm surprised to see you here. Not in a bad way, of course. I didn't know you were coming."

"I wanted to make sure that you and Tony were okay," he says. "The others send their best and wish they could be here, too. Oh, and please, call me Steve. Or Cap. That's what everyone else calls me these days."

"Only if you call me Pepper, Steve," she says. She steps back with a playful smile on her face. "It's so good to see you again. You look great."

"So do you, considering everything that's happened. And the surgery—you don't seem worried at all."

"Actually, I'm a nervous wreck and I came here to get a Snickers bar so I don't go crazy from low blood sugar and claw some poor nurse's eyes out." She looks at the vending machine and sighs. "But of course, just my luck; they're out of Snickers."

"Would a Hershey bar do the trick? On me."

Pepper smiles at him again. "I think it would do nicely, thank you."

Of course, when Steve inserts the (exorbitant) fee into the machine, the little metal spiral whirs, but nothing comes out. "Hold on," he says, before he grabs the machine with both hands. He means to give it a little jostle, but he ends up shaking nine different candy bars out of their rungs. Pepper dissolves into giggles as he collects them all and presents them to her. "Um…take your pick?"

"I'll stick with the Hershey bar," she says, plucking it delicately from his grip. "I know what we can do with the others, though."

Which is how Steve finds himself in the pediatric ward with Pepper, handing out pieces of candy to sick children. Watching the kids light up at the very notion of candy being _hand-delivered by Captain America_ is enough to keep Steve smiling for weeks. Better yet, somehow, is the evident joy on Pepper's face as they do it together, and knowing that he was able to distract her from the recent mess and the worry surrounding Tony's surgery; that he was finally able to do _something_.

"I wanted to call you," he admits to Pepper later, when Tony's surgery is over and declared a success. They're sitting on uncomfortable plastic seats, sharing the last of the Hershey bar. Steve pulls out a handkerchief to clean up the chocolate smears on his fingers. "When I thought Tony was dead. I wanted to…I don't know. To be there for you."

Steve isn't sure just how much Pepper knows about S.H.I.E.L.D. and their ridiculous ways of handling things, but she looks understanding as she squeezes Steve's hand. Pepper Potts is another woman with a seemingly unending reserve of strength and poise. He thinks about Natasha and Peggy and how lucky he's been to know these women and have them in his life, even if just for a little while. Tony is pretty lucky, too. Steve wonders if Tony knows just how lucky.

"I'm glad you're here now," Pepper says quietly. "It means a lot."

Steve motions to the room down the hall where Tony is recovering, still sedated. "Think he'll want to see me when he wakes up?"

She hesitates, clearly trying to think of the right words. "I think too many visitors might be a bit much for him right now," she finally says. It stings a little, knowing deep down that the real answer is no, and that Tony is still too ticked at him. But Steve can respect it. He has no other choice.

"Then just let me know when you want me to leave."

"Okay," Pepper says. Then, to his surprise, she wraps her arms around Steve's bicep and huddles against his side. "Not yet."

Steve bites his lip but otherwise doesn't move a muscle. Not until she says so.

*

"Are you sure it's okay that I'm here?" Steve asks Pepper. They're standing by the fridge while on the other side of the Avengers' common kitchen, Clint, Natasha, and Thor attack a stack of freshly delivered pizza boxes.

"Pepperoni!" Thor booms. "How I missed this fine, processed meat product while I was in Asgard."

"No pepperoni?" Clint asks. "God, it must be some sort of dystopian hellscape up there."

"It's more than okay," Pepper says to Steve. "We're celebrating Tony's recovery. Of course you should be here."

"I'm just not sure Tony is in the mood to see me."

"You said no to an apartment," Natasha remarks. "You didn't murder his puppy."

"We got your back, Cap," Clint says, holding out a fist. Steve reaches over to accept the bump; something that he still has to remind himself is the proper custom.

Thor hums as he practically inhales a slice of pizza. "It will be odd to regard Iron Man without his glowing blue light. I've become accustomed to the sight of it."

"It's pretty remarkable," Pepper says, unable to hide a smile. "He's like his old self again." Steve smiles back, recalling how Tony destroyed all of his suits for her—Iron Man's ultimate romantic gesture. Pepper must feel truly loved and, well, she deserves it.

At that moment, Bruce comes walking into the room with Tony trailing behind him. They're already bickering over something.

"I just can't believe you fell asleep! And right in the middle of that _highly_ engaging story."

"Look, I didn't get much sleep in Bolivia, all right? Too many buzzing things in the middle of the night."

"Ugh, no pizza for you," Tony says. "You hear that, everyone? Keep the pizza away from the kindly man in the wire-framed glasses with the tendency to turn green. He doesn't—" He pauses when he sees Steve standing in the kitchen, right next to Pepper. For a moment, Steve swears he can see Tony's eyes flash. "Oh, great. Who invited Captain Boner Killer?"

Steve swallows. He has half a mind to excuse himself from the party, where he's clearly not wanted, but then Pepper shoots Tony a devastating look that chastens him immediately.

"I did," she announces. "He's my guest."

"He's my guest, too," Clint says, his mouth half-full of chewed food. "Since I also live here."

"He's my guest, too," Natasha says. Steve wouldn't be surprised if razor blades went shooting out of her eyes.

"Okay, fine, geez. Back off, Team America." Tony throws his hands up and makes a beeline for the pizza boxes, grabbing a plain slice and tossing it onto a plate. "I'm not saying he's not welcome. He's always been welcome. I'm just surprised he wants to be here, that's all."

Steve inhales through his nose and ventures closer. He knows he needs to be the bigger person here. As it is, it's taking all his strength not to wrap Tony up in a hug and squeeze the life out of him. And that's a strange thought, too—knowing he wants to do that, to take comfort from Tony's physical presence. Then again, it wasn't long ago that he thought Tony was dead.

"I'm glad to see you're doing well, Tony," he says, trying to keep his tone even and measured—like the captain he's supposed to be. "And I mean that." He puts out his hand for a shake. Tony looks at him blandly and ignores the invitation, grabbing his slice for a large bite instead.

"Enjoy the pizza," he says, before turning away. Steve blinks and drops his hand back to his side.

"Ignore him," Pepper whispers, once Tony is off somewhere else, chatting with Bruce and Thor. "He's going through a tough transition right now. He's not the big hero in the red and gold suit of armor anymore. He just needs some time."

Natasha dabs at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "He needs a kick in his red and gold ass," she mutters.

Steve doesn't stay long after that.

Still, he returns to Avengers Tower a few days later, mostly because Natasha insists on dragging him out of his apartment. Steve doesn't protest too much. Now that Tony is living there again, working and breathing in plain sight, recovering nicely from his surgery, Steve has a vested interest in keeping an eye on him—something he couldn't do when Tony was risking his life in Malibu or piecing it back together in Tennessee. So he goes to the tower and plays video games with Clint and makes dinner with Pepper and Natasha, and Tony doesn’t do more than acknowledge him with wary, askance looks each time. It gives Steve the confidence to return to Avengers Tower again, then again, and then another time.

Until the night that Tony corners him alone in the kitchen. Steve's in the midst of fetching himself a glass of milk—not the Lactaid, considering how precious that stuff is to Clint. When Steve glimpses the $5.59 sticker on the carton, he can understand why Bruce conveniently "forgets" to buy it. When he turns around, Tony is standing right there and Steve spills half of the milk down the front of his shirt.

"Holy—smokes, Tony. How is it that you can be so quiet when you're almost always making a racket?"

The corner of Tony's mouth curls in a half-smile. "Seeing you drenched in dairy has suddenly lightened my mood. Thanks for that, Steviekins."

Steve rolls his eyes and grabs a dishcloth with his free hand, patting himself dry. "You must not be that mad at me anymore if you're using condescending pet names."

"I'm not _mad_ at you," Tony says, though he doesn't go into further detail. He folds his arms over his chest—and Thor was right, it's still bizarre to see him without the arc reactor—and arches one of his dark eyebrows. "Why are you here, Cap? I thought you didn't want to hang out in the tower."

"I said I didn't want to live here."

"And yet you're practically doing that lately. Playing video games all night, braiding Clint's hair, eating my food." They both look down at the glass in Steve's hand and Steve feels himself flush. "What's the deal? Brooklyn's the new Manhattan, or so I hear. The nightlife's not swinging enough for you down there?"

Steve purses his lips, not quite knowing how to respond. He doesn't think Tony would take kindly to an answer such as _I'm worried about you_ or _I want to keep an eye on you, so you don't go off the deep end_. Or worse: _I don't want to lose you again_. He doesn't even understand what such thoughts mean or where they've come from, so saying them aloud seems like a terrible idea.

"I'm worried about Pepper," Steve says, for lack of a better half-truth. Tony tilts his head and frowns.

"I can take care of Pepper. More accurately, Pepper can take care of herself and I think we both know that so…nope, wrong answer, do not pass go, try again."

Steve shuts his eyes and puts the glass down on the counter, leaving a ring of milk behind that JARVIS will probably clean up later.

"You want to know why? Okay, well, it probably started when I watched your house get destroyed on live TV," he says. The words just seem to pour out of him, slow and unbidden, and once he starts, he isn't quite sure how to make it stop. "I watched you self-destruct, in front of the entire planet, and then I watched you _die_. And now you're here and you're fine—you're _better_ now, and I'm just trying to make sense of it all, Tony. I can't be like you; I can't pretend as though all these things never happened. And I'm trying my best to keep up with you and the rest of the world, but you move too fast for me. It all moves too fast unless I do everything it takes in my power to hang on. Am I making any sense, or…?"

For a moment, Tony looks dumbfounded, but then he shifts back into the usual non-expressive glare he's been giving Steve for the past week. Steve thinks Tony is about to walk away from him or cut him down to size with one of his famously acerbic insults. Instead, he sips from his seltzer water—he's off alcohol during his recovery, doctor's and Pepper's orders—and licks the residue from his lips.

"How's the apartment S.H.I.E.L.D. gave you?" he asks.

"Huh?"

"The apartment. Do you like it?"

Steve hesitates. "It's too quiet," he admits.

"Yeah, I hate quiet," Tony says. "I'll have to come by and check it out some time, if you don't mind. I mean, it's only fair, what with you eating me out of house and home."

"Anytime," Steve says, nodding with all sincerity. "Anytime you want, absolutely."

Tony flashes him a tight, close-lipped smile before he walks away. "Well, you'd better be there to let me in."

*

It's only a few days until Tony makes good on his word and shows up at Steve's apartment. He's carrying some kind of ceramic monstrosity in his arms that Steve can only describe as _alarming_.

"What…did you bring?"

"Happy housewarming," Tony says, putting it down on the floor. It's a sculpture, if one can call it that, of three white ducks—dancing?—with the word "WELCOME" etched on a platform beneath their webbed feet. Steve has never had much of a poker face and he gives himself away when Tony looks at him. "You don't like it, do you? Ah, goddamn it. I suck at gifts. Seriously, I'm the worst. Did Pepper tell you about the giant bunny incident? Don't ask her about the giant bunny incident."

"I don't not like it," Steve says. He purses his lips. "It's unusual."

"I figured it'd be up your alley. You know, it's got that kind of old-timey, mid-century Americana, mowed lawn and white picket fence thing going on."

"I grew up in Brooklyn; I never had a white picket fence. And I was asleep under the ice during the mid-century."

Tony considers this with a faint scratch to his chin. "I see now where I took a wrong turn."

"I do like it, Tony. Really. I wasn't expecting you to bring me anything, so thank you." Steve can't help but smile at the entire exchange. The thing is ugly as sin but it's the thought that counts. The idea that Tony thought of him at all, let alone tried to find something he'd like, makes Steve feel warm and tingly down to his bare feet. "Would you like a drink or something to eat?"

"Sure, a drink, maybe. Anything that's non-alcoholic so Pepper doesn't flay me alive." Tony follows after Steve as he goes to the fridge, peering inside. "Whoa. That's a lot of Dr. Brown's you've got in there, Steve."

"Do you prefer root beer or cream soda?"

"Hmm…cream soda. Oh, Jesus." He reaches past Steve to pull out the loaf of bread, holding it up with wide eyes. "Seriously? Wonder Bread? How wholesome can you possibly be, Rogers?"

Steve blushes faintly and shrugs, pouring their drinks. "I used to eat it when I was a kid. It's comforting."

"You know this means I have to start calling you Stevie Wonder now, right?" He balks when Steve looks at him blankly. "Oh, god, really? 'Isn't She Lovely?' 'I Just Called to Say I Love You'? Okay, you're completely unaware of one of the most popular recording artists of all time. Whatever. It's fine. We'll download it for you on StarkTunes. Actually, never mind, that's gonna be beyond you, too. We'll get a gramophone in here."

"I know what StarkTunes is," Steve huffs. He hands Tony his drink. "Kind of."

"Kind of," Tony repeats. He sips and looks around with a slow nod. "Nice place. Not a lot going on décor-wise."

Steve shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him the bare essentials when he moved in and it didn't even occur to Steve to purchase anything else until Natasha pointed out that the overhead light was giving her headaches. She made him buy a floor lamp and pillows for the couch. There's a red one, because it made him think of her, and a purple one that reminds him of Clint. The purple one always ends up in Clint's lap during television marathons.

"It's simple," he says. "It's all I need, really."

"Except for any kind of excitement or company."

"I get company. Clint comes to visit a lot."

Tony nods and drums his fingers on the kitchen island. "Yeah, JARVIS told me he wasn't around the tower much when I was living in Malibu. Guess I won't be out there again any time soon. Do you even know how much money I've spent on home repair this year, between Loki's little war on good taste and that other batshit asshole? I don't want to tell you, Cap. I can't tell you. Your pretty blond head would explode into a million pieces. _Million_ , there's a clue. Just times that by infinity a few times over."

Steve fidgets with his glass. He can tell Tony is dancing around something, babbling the way he does when he's being avoidant. He decides to try and be bold, in the interest of making this easier on both of them.

"Tony, about the other night—" he begins. Tony barks a manic laugh, interrupting him.

"Yeah, that got kinda weird, huh?" He sits down on the arm of the sofa, sighing into his glass. "That's mainly why I'm here, to say sorry. I shouldn't have given you the third degree like that. But you know, when someone makes it pretty clear that they can barely tolerate you and then starts showing up on your doorstep every night…"

"Tolerate you?" Steve repeats, taken aback.

"I mean, everyone else accepted my offer. I thought I was doing a nice thing. But I get it, you know? I do. You're a private guy and well…just because you save the world with someone doesn't mean you have to skip off to the chapel together and exchange vows."

"Tony, just because I said no to the apartment doesn't mean I don't like you or care about you. I mean, I—"

"I know, I know. 'I watched you _diiiie_.' I remember." Tony shakes his fist in the air and smirks at him, but it's a mirthless thing, not meant to poke fun. It's almost as though he's sad that Steve could care about him. He shifts his gaze toward the far wall. "I appreciate your concern. Retroactively speaking. But you know all of this isn't about you, right? It's about me and my own shit."

"I know that," Steve says. He swallows down the instinctive follow-up: _But maybe I could help_. Instead, he motions to the apartment. "Kind of like how all of this? Isn't about you."

Tony straightens up and blinks at Steve, as if he's seeing him for the first time. "Huh," he says. He wags a finger. "That was impressive, Wonder Bread. A Pepper Potts-level comeback. I'll have to watch out for you."

Steve thinks it's pride that he can feel bubbling in his chest at Tony's words, but it's not that, not exactly.

Just then, someone thuds on the apartment door frantically. Steve rushes to answer and is shocked when he finds Clint there. The stony look on his face tells Steve that something is horribly wrong. Even more of a telltale sign is the fact that Clint is knocking on his front door, like a normal visitor, as opposed to crawling through the window and cursing at the pigeons on the fire escape.

"What happened?" Steve asks. Clint blows by him, as though he can't even hear Steve above the boiling brew raging between his ears. He makes a beeline for the couch and sits heavily, hugging the purple pillow to his chest. Then he gets up, quick as one of his own shots, and throws the pillow down, stomping toward the kitchen. Steve feels himself make the mental switch to Captain mode. "Hawkeye, what's going on here?"

"Yeah, what's the deal, Sailor Mars? No kiss hello?"

Clint responds by slamming a fist against the kitchen island. Steve thinks that it has to hurt but Clint doesn't blink an eye.

"You know what?" he bellows. "Fuck us sideways for listening to orders and telling you not to help Tony when he needed you, Cap, because FURY LIES. He's a motherfucking liar who _lies_ and—"

"Hold on," Steve says, holding up his hands. He ignores the way Tony stands and looks between them, mouth agape. "Start over, Hawkeye. Take a deep breath. What did he lie about?" The _this time_ goes unsaid.

Clint does as he's told and the breath sounds ragged in his throat. "It's Coulson," he says with some difficulty. "He's _alive_."

Tony's jaw drops even further. "Well, fuck me sideways," he drawls. Steve is left gaping. Admittedly, he can't think of anything better to sum up his feelings on the situation, so he leaves it at Tony's colorful exclamation.

"Six months," Clint spits. " _Six fucking months_ , they've been keeping this from me. That my boss, my, my…my _lover_ —"

"Whoa," Tony interjects.

"—has been alive this entire time, recovering in a wheelchair in the bowels of some secret fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. facility somewhere. And then today they just sit me down in some meeting, pretending they're gonna ship me off to Sri Lanka or fuck knows where, and they start spouting some bullshit about level seven clearance and, and…"

"I thought Agent was dating some cellist," Tony says. His eyes widen as it dawns on him and he looks up, miming the bow action. "Holy shit. I just got that."

Steve bites his lip. "Does Widow know?"

"She found out today, too." Clint shuts his eyes. "She broke her sparring partner's arm in two places."

"See, this is why I use my own gym," Tony says. "Also, your _lover_? I don't mean to harp on it, but. It's a weird word choice."

"Tony, please," Steve says. "Can you go to the facility and see him?"

"Yeah, my new 'clearance' gives me permission to see my own boyfriend, whoop-dee-fucking-doo." Clint looks at him with watery eyes. "It's just. I thought he was _dead_ , Cap. I forced myself to live with that. Am I just supposed to forget everything that happened? How that felt? How do I flip that switch?"

Steve sighs. There are a lot of questions he wants to ask, of course: How, why, and what on _Earth_ being the top three. But Clint is a mess and this clearly isn't the time. And even though he has some expertise in this particular area, there's nothing he can say to make things easier on Clint. Steve fetches a fresh root beer and hands it to Clint without a word, slinging an arm around his shaking shoulders. Clint leans into it slightly, trying to pull himself together. They all just stand there for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts.

It's Clint who finally breaks the silence, pointing toward the door, at the trio of cheerful ceramic ducks.

"And what the fuck is that?" he asks, a hysteric edge to his voice.

"Uh. Mid-century Americana?" Steve says.

Tony sighs into his palm. "Thank god I kept the receipt."

*

It turns out that "Fury lies" is a good rule of thumb for all situations. When the Avengers gather at the secret facility to see Coulson in the flesh (sans Clint, who had special permission to see him first and to go alone), Steve catches a glimpse of the man walking around his office, between the gaps of his window blinds. Walking—which is to say, not in a wheelchair. He doesn't look hurt at all.

Natasha muscles her way to the front of the pack when they enter the room, mainly to punch Coulson hard in the shoulder. Either Coulson forgot what Natasha was like after being away for so long, or he knew it would be coming and he chose to let her do it. Steve suspects the latter. Natasha bites her lip and mutters something in Russian, shaking her head, and Coulson takes her wrist gently in his grasp, whispering "shhh, shhhh" as he wraps an arm around her. She lets him. Steve looks away, embarrassed to be within earshot of their intimate, private moment.

"What'd she say?" Tony asks in a stage whisper. Bruce elbows him in the side. "What? I'm just trying to follow along, here."

After a minute or two, Coulson extracts himself from Natasha with a kind smile. She turns to meet their eyes with a challenging glare—one that says, _Mention this again in my presence and I'll gladly eviscerate you_. Steve, for one, wouldn't dream of it.

"You're all a sight for sore eyes," Coulson says. "I've been cooped up in this office for months; it's nice to see some familiar faces. Especially yours, Captain Rogers." He smiles at Steve as a faint blush rises to his cheeks. "Thank you for coming to see me. It's an honor."

Tony rolls his eyes. "And what are we, chopped liver?"

"It's good to see all of you," Coulson replies. "Even you, Stark."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Agent."

"Son of Coul, it is good to see you alive and well!" Thor proclaims. His eyes narrow warily. "But I am troubled. I saw you perish with my own eyes. Will you tell us the truth of this sorcery?"

Coulson darts a quick glance at Fury, who's standing by the door with his arms folded across his chest. After a small nod from Fury, Coulson shrugs and splays his hands.

"The truth is, I was never dead," he says. "No sorcery afoot, though. It just wasn't me who you saw that day."

"I have perfect eyesight." Thor frowns. "Do you have a twin?"

"A hologram, maybe?" Bruce asks, already drumming his fingertips against his chin. "But then, how could it have bled out?"

"Oh, my god," Tony says, snapping his fingers and pointing at Coulson, then Fury. "LMD. You sons of _bitches_. They used a goddamn LMD to trick the bastard."

"That couldn't be," Natasha says.

"Now, tell us the truth: Was it an LMD the entire time? Like, when I first met him and when he made the _Supernanny_ joke? Was that some kind of weird LMD humor?" Tony steps closer to Coulson and prods at his cheeks and suit jacket, trying to look closely at his right eyeball. "Or was that the real Coulson and this is the LMD?" he whispers. Coulson neatly swats his hands away.

"Hands off the material," he snaps.

"My apologies to Mr. Dolce and Mr. Gabbana."

"Hold on a second," Steve interrupts, waving his hands. He's having a tough time following this, mainly because he doesn’t know what Tony is talking about. "I know this will inspire at least another year of grandpa jokes, but what exactly is an LMD?"

"Life Model Decoy," Natasha says. She circles Coulson, looking grim. "It's an exact physical replica of the person in question. Most often yet not commonly deployed in life-threatening combat scenarios."

"Only some of the most advanced tech that Stark Industries has to offer," Tony adds. "So the Coulson that died that day was a..."

"Coulson doll?" Bruce asks.

"Limited edition, apparently," Tony says. "Collect them all."

Natasha steps forward, looking just about ready to rip someone's head off. Possibly Tony's. "This is bullshit," she says.

Coulson folds his hands together, looking as discomfited as his cool demeanor will allow. "Did you watch the tape, Natasha?" he asks.

"Of course I did."

"Did you watch it with the sound on?"

Five minutes later, they're all crowded around a screen watching footage that Steve really wishes he didn't have to see more than once. Thor seems especially prickly about it, considering how Loki outsmarts him during their exchange on the helicarrier. Then Phil walks in, carrying a weapon Steve knows he's personally not clever enough to ever be trusted to use.

 _Even I don't know what it does_ , Coulson says on the tape.

Natasha sits up abruptly. "Okay, that's not him," she says.

"How can you tell?" Bruce asks.

"He knows what everything does. It's his job."

"The question that remains," Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking squarely at Fury, "is why S.H.I.E.L.D. kept it a secret for so long. Especially when Agent Coulson had loved ones who would have liked to have known he was alive."

"Listen, Captain," Fury says, pinning him with the full intensity of his one good eye. "This is a delicate situation, to put it mildly. Put yourself in my position. I've got Norse gods raining down on the planet like hail, showing up in big-ass clouds of smoke, and infecting highly trained and loyal agents with some bad juju. I've got those same agents going rogue on senseless killing sprees, until someone hits them hard enough on the head, and then suddenly they're fine and dandy again."

"You did this because of _Barton_?" Tony asks.

"I did it because we're dealing with magic here—the likes of which we've never seen. I can't blindly trust that someone who flipped on a _dime_ , all because Loki poked him with a magic spear, isn't going to be carrying that around for months or years to come. That he's not gonna wake up one morning with a voice in his head, telling him to finish the damn job."

"Barton is clean," Natasha says, nearly a hiss. "You have to trust him."

"What I _have_ to do is protect my assets," Fury says. He looks at Steve, his eyebrow lifted. "Tell me you would have done it differently, Rogers."

Steve swallows and shakes his head. "No, sir. I wouldn't have."

Everyone looks on the verge of protesting but nothing is said. Tony even reaches over and squeezes Steve's shoulder, and he's immensely grateful for that one touch, that one gesture of solidarity. He doesn't expect it, coming from Tony, but then again, he knows that Tony is all too familiar with what happens when you don't protect your assets. At this point, it's a lesson they've all learned.

When everyone begins filing out, Coulson stops Steve and Natasha, lowering his voice. "Speaking of Clint," he says—and his use of Hawkeye's first name tells Steve everything he needs to know about what exists there. "Is there a reason he didn't join you for this visit? Is he all right?"

"He said he'd gotten special dispensation to visit you first," Steve says. "And to come alone."

Coulson's shoulders slump minutely. "Ah."

Steve and Natasha exchange a look.

" _Bozhe moi_ ," she murmurs, rolling her eyes and turning on her heel. "I'll handle it."

They watch her walk away. Steve clasps Coulson's shoulder, mirroring Tony's earlier gesture, because it seems like the thing to do.

"I'm sure she will," he says. "Handle it, that is."

"I know she will." Coulson looks up at him, his mouth curved into a slight, sardonic smile. "I know you've been helping him get through this. Thank you."

"I haven't done anything."

"You have. It's always the hardest time for a soldier, after the dust settles."

The words are profound but Steve doesn't have a clue what to do with them.

He goes home to his own apartment that night. After a quick inspection, he finds the place is Hawkeye-free. There's a message waiting on his answering machine, which Steve listens to as he makes himself a sandwich.

_Do you really own an answering machine? God, that is so 1996. Not that you would know. Anyway. Today was crazy, huh? I don't blame you for not coming to the tower. I'm hiding out in the lab myself. Uh…hey, listen. You should come over for dinner sometime; just you, Pepper, and me. That is, if you want to. You don't have to. But you should. Okay? Okay, great. Well, I'd love to stay and chat with this relic of woebegone technology but something is on fire, so that's my cue, bye._

Steve stares at the machine for a long time, wondering if it's broken. His thoughts are interrupted when Clint shuffles into the kitchen and scares the living daylights out of him.

"You've been here this whole time?"

"In the tub," Clint admits. The one place Steve didn't look. He squints, looking like a scolded puppy. "Please don't tell anyone I'm here. Also, am I losing my mind or did Stark just ask you out on a _date_?"

Steve scratches his jaw and wonders when this became his life.

"I'll make another sandwich," he says.

*

After that, Clint lives in Steve's bathtub for a while. He emerges occasionally for food or to watch something on TV, but for the most part, he stays in the tub, playing games on his StarkPad and snoring loudly when he sleeps. The apartment has a guest room, but Steve's mention of it merely earns him a shrug and a request for a root beer refill. Steve doesn't exactly _mind_ that Clint is living in his tub, but it does cramp his style when it comes to simple but important matters, like getting clean. On the third day, he's so bothered by his own rankness that he goes to the S.H.I.E.L.D. gym to take a shower. Natasha corners him afterwards while he's still wearing a towel, which startles him and makes him blush.

"Natasha, this is the men's locker room," he hisses.

"Actually, it's a unisex locker room," she says. She points to a female agent walking by, who's also wearing nothing but a towel. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is one of the leading government agencies when it comes to gender equality in the workplace."

Steve sighs. "Lucky me."

"You're enabling him, you know."

"Would it be possible to have this conversation when I'm not half-naked?"

"You came all the way to S.H.I.E.L.D. to bathe so that Clint could continue to wallow in his self-made despair. In a tub of it, even."

Natasha leans her hip against a locker and gives Steve a look that could melt steel. He sits down on the bench, giving up any hope of being able to put on his clothes before he hashes this out with her.

"I'm trying to be sensitive. This is a tough time for him. It's hard when you realize that…well, that the world isn't as black and white as it seems."

"Tell me something I don't know. But this isn't good for him, Cap. Clint is more resilient than this, but sometimes he falters and what he needs is a push. Someone to get him back on his feet, not to baby him."

Steve peers up at her, toweling off his hair. "Even when the person who usually gives him the push is the one he's avoiding?"

"I know him," she says, pushing off the locker. "And if you don't talk to him, I will."

Steve is all too happy to forget about the uncomfortable exchange and let Clint be until a few days later, when Natasha shows up at his door. He's in the middle of preparing for his dinner with Tony and Pepper, still buttoning up his shirt. It's a shirt that Natasha helped him pick out during one of their shopping excursions. Steve had always thought he'd wear it at a party or something, not to a dinner with Tony and Pepper, but it's the only garment in his wardrobe that seems fitting.

"Natasha, how—"

" _Move_ ," she demands.

"…do you always seem to know when I'm half-dressed."

Natasha blows by Steve and makes a beeline for the bathroom, where Clint is watching something on his StarkPad and chuckling as he eats corn chips. In a half-second, Clint spots her and also realizes the StarkPad has been plucked from his grasp.

"Hey!"

"Get up. Fury has an assignment for you."

"Like I give a shit?" Clint says, scoffing. He makes grabby hands for the StarkPad. "Give it back! I was watching something."

She glances at the screen. "Cartoons, Barton? Really?"

"It's _My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic_ ," Clint says. "It's very sophisticated."

Steve pops his head into the bathroom. "Everything okay in here? I'm about to…"

"You can have it back after the assignment. If you agree to take the assignment."

"I don't have to do shit for that liar," Clint says, scowling.

Natasha arches a perfect eyebrow. "So you're resigning from your position."

"If that's what it comes down to, yeah."

"Then I'm confiscating this StarkPad as official S.H.I.E.L.D. equipment, which you are no longer sanctioned to use as a _former_ employee."

Clint cringes and makes a lunge for the StarkPad, which Natasha dodges easily. "Okay, no, I unresign, I unresign. Tasha, come _onnnnn_."

"This seems, uh, private," Steve says, trying not to cringe. "I can come back later, after my dinner."

That makes them pause and Clint laughs faintly.

"Oh yeah, Steve has a date with Tony and Pepper. It's kinda cute."

"Shut up," Natasha says, smacking his thigh with the StarkPad. Clint yelps and scrambles to escape within the confines of the tub, to no avail. "You have to get up, take a shower, because you're disgusting, and _talk to him_. In that order. Do you understand?"

"Ugh, _yes_! Yes. I'll go see him tomorrow. God, you suck sometimes."

"Don't make me come back." She flings the StarkPad in the air and Clint catches it, but just barely.

"What's the assignment, anyway?"

"To get your dead ass out of Cap's tub." Natasha turns on her heel and regards Steve coolly as she walks out of the bathroom. "Have a nice threesome," she says.

"It's not a—it's just dinner!" he exclaims. The sound of the front door slamming shut is Natasha's only reply.

"You're so red right now, you look like the Human Torch," Clint comments, already going back to his StarkPad. "Actually, I never noticed it before, but there's a slight resemblance."

Steve sighs and shakes his head. "You told her the truth, right? You're going to see Agent Coulson tomorrow?"

"No. She can't tell me what to do." He purses his lips. "Okay, she can. But I dunno. Maybe. I'll think about it, okay?"

"Good," Steve says. He nods definitively and turns to leave the room, when something hits him in the back of the head—that something being a perfectly aimed condom.

"Be safe, Captain Rogers," Clint sing-songs.

Steve's nostrils flare as he looks down at the condom on the floor. For a moment, he thinks about reaching down, grabbing it, and throwing it back at Clint, but then he hightails it out of the room instead. Human Torch indeed.

*

He ends up in a Starbucks near Avengers Tower for a half-hour, using up all the free time he allotted himself just to sit and think. Clint has been teasing him about this dinner ever since he heard Stark's voicemail message, but Steve never really thought about it in a romantic context—that is, until Natasha made her little comment and Clint threw that condom at his head. Damn Hawkeye and his perfect aim. And to think, Steve's been letting him keep a pillow in the bathtub all this time.

Steve ends up at the tower a little late and nods to the guard doing the night shift in the lobby. He uses his badge to get through the security scans that pop up on the way to Tony and Pepper's private floor. When he arrives, he sees a lovely, exorbitantly decorated dinner table waiting for him, but no Tony or Pepper.

"Good evening, Captain Rogers," JARVIS says, nearly scaring him out of his skin. A coat rack appears out of nowhere for his use and Steve hangs up his jacket. "Shall I alert the others to let them know you have arrived?"

"Sure, that'd be great. Thank you."

Steve wanders over to the dinner table and touches one of the glittering pieces of stemware idly, realizing that Clint was right. This does appear to be a romantic gathering. He's glad he wore one of his nice shirts. Clint almost convinced him to wear a suit but that would have been a bit much.

Or, at least, he thinks so until Pepper walks into the room, wearing a low cut, dark green cocktail dress and high heels that make her slim legs appear endless. Steve fidgets as his mouth goes dry.

"Steve!" she says, walking over and kissing his cheek. "I'm so sorry we weren't here to greet you when you came in. Tony's been having a bit of a wardrobe crisis."

At least it's not just him, Steve thinks. He kisses Pepper's cheek in return. "I hope I'm dressed appropriately."

"Of course," she says. "I love the shirt. Did Natasha help you pick it out?"

"In the store," Steve says, laughing and blushing faintly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Little friendly advice, Capsicle," Tony says, sweeping into the room. Steve is awed by the way he commands of the attention of everyone gathered in a single area, without any noticeable effort. "In this day and age, we don't call women under fifty 'ma'am' unless we want to get punched in the face. Which may be your bag, actually. God knows it was mine for a couple of years."

"I don't mind if it's coming from Steve," Pepper says, waving a hand. "He's the old-fashioned sort."

Tony shrugs and goes to open the bottle of wine that's sitting on ice near the corner of the dining table. "That he is. I'm surprised you're late, Cap. You strike me as the type of guy to show up an hour early for most things."

"Something came up," Steve says, offering an apologetic smile. "I know; it's not like me."

"Was it Clint? Is he done playing rubber ducky in your tub yet?"

"Has he gone to see Phil?" Pepper asks.

"I still can't get over that cellist thing. Agent's a lot more clever than I thought."

Steve blinks and watches the two of them flit around the dining room, filling wine glasses and bringing food in from the kitchen. He feels a little dazed, wondering where he fits into this scene. He's not sure how to interpret anything. The food and the wine and the clothes are all fancier than he's used to, but the conversation is normal and even mundane. Steve feels painfully aware of everything, from the starchiness of his slacks to the way his shoes pinch his toes, just the slightest bit, and Tony and Pepper's overall ease and grace in this space, because this is their _home_ and Steve has the strong suspicion that even when invited, he doesn't belong here. And isn't that why he turned Tony down in the first place? He doesn't belong. None of this feels quite right. He ought to be alone.

When Steve snaps out of his trance, he's sitting at the dining table and Pepper is asking him a question.

"Pardon?" he asks.

She holds up a bowl with tongs and smiles kindly. It's probably the most exquisite bowl Steve has ever seen—which is odd but true. "Do you want any salad?" she asks.

"Oh, yes," he says. He takes the bowl and realizes, while scooping out dressed greens, that he's been daydreaming for about ten minutes, going through the motions, and no one seemed to notice. "Everything looks wonderful."

Tony chews and gives Steve an odd look. "You okay, Cap? You're a little quiet tonight."

"You haven't touched your wine," Pepper notes.

"Ah, shit," Tony says, putting his fork down. "He can't drink. I mean, he can, but he can't get drunk. So what's the point?"

"Oh, I should have realized…"

"No, no, it's fine," Steve says, shaking his head. "Just because it doesn't get me drunk doesn't mean I don't like it." He takes a sip and tries not to pucker his lips when he tastes how dry it is. "It's…good."

Pepper looks apologetic, which makes Steve feel worse. "The food will make up for it. Tony hired a four-star chef for the evening and he makes the most wonderful rack of lamb. You like lamb, don't you?"

"I've never had it before," Steve admits.

"Well, this is turning out to be one hell of a meal," Tony says.

"I have to ask you two a question," Steve blurts out. He crumples the linen napkin splayed across his lap and tries not to tear it down the middle. "Is this a date?"

Tony and Pepper exchange an awkward glance that Steve can't read exactly. The silence is deafening, after all of their chatter, so he can't help but keep talking.

"'Cause, you know, like you said, I'm an old-fashioned guy. I don't need to be wined and dined. My favorite thing to eat is street vendor hot dogs. Unless it's not a date, in which case, gosh, I must sound really ungrateful right now. I'm sorry. I'm excited to try the lamb, I really am. I hear it's good."

Tony peers at him with his dark, dark eyes and takes a healthy sip of his wine. "It's not a date," he says.

"Well, not exactly," Pepper adds.

"Right—not exactly." Tony shrugs and wipes at his mouth with a napkin. "It's more of a thank you. For being there for Pepper." He shrugs and licks his lips. "She told me about you visiting the hospital, so."

"You don’t have to thank me for that. I was just paying an overdue visit to some friends who were in a difficult situation. Doing what friends do."

"Yeah, I know, I just. I appreciate it," Tony says. He looks at Steve seriously. "What you did for her. And all the things you wanted to do for us, even when the fuckers wouldn't let you. I won't forget it."

Steve exhales in the face of Tony's intense gaze. A hint of panic creeps through him, as he wonders just how Tony seems to know what he knows. But then he remembers what Clint said, the night he stomped into Steve's apartment and started ranting, and wow, he'd never stopped to think about how Tony might react to that. Steve's stomach is twisty and the panicky feeling doesn't go away.

"I didn't do anything," he says. He forces himself to stop fiddling with his napkin and look at them. "I'm sorry I made this awkward. Clint has been making date jokes all week and I think it confused me."

Pepper traces her finger along the stem of her glass and shrugs. "Do you _want_ it to be a date?" she asks, pinning him with her crisp blue eyes. Steve feels his skin flush from his hairline down to his toes.

"Forward much, Ms. Potts?" Tony says, gaping at her. "I mean, don't misunderstand me; I'm very proud, but."

"Well, we did talk about it—"

"Not _extensively_." Tony looks at Steve and waves a hand. "Not at great length. Uh. Bad choice of words. Not…not a lot."

"I should go," Steve says, without thinking. He doesn't mean to ruin the evening but his heart is pounding in his chest and it's fight or flight—or, in this case, engage in awkward conversation over rack of lamb or flight. Steve hasn't had romantic feelings for anyone since Peggy and Bucky—two people still so fresh in his mind, even though he lost them ages ago. He doesn't know how Tony and Pepper can be so casual when Steve is still trying to sort everything out. His mind flashes back to Times Square and Tony's manic rant to the camera, Pepper's devastation on the news and Steve's impotence, and the very thought makes him bolt upright, out of his chair. "I really ought to go. I'm sorry."

"Can JARVIS call you a cab?" Pepper says, standing as well.

"No, I'll walk."

"To Brooklyn?" Tony asks.

"To the train. Thank you for…the salad. I liked the dressing."

Tony steeples his fingers below his chin. "I'm glad. It cost two thousand dollars."

" _Two thou_ —okay, goodbye."

"The _meal_ cost that much," Pepper says, swatting Tony's shoulder.

"Well, that was all that he ate!"

Steve runs out of there before he explodes all over the dining room. He's already made enough of a mess.

*

He doesn't get much sleep that night. He finally drifts off around five, only to be woken at nine by the sound of his toaster crashing to the kitchen floor. In less than thirty seconds, Steve is in the other room, wearing only a T-shirt and boxer shorts and clutching a lamp in one hand to bash over some bad guy's head.

He's not prepared to find Clint and Phil going at it like horny monkeys atop his kitchen island. Phil is more disheveled than Steve has ever seen him—even the Coulson LMD, lying on the floor with a gaping hole in its chest, looked more composed. His hair is mussed, one arm is out of his suit jacket, and the knot in his tie has been yanked loose. Beneath him is Clint, who's shirtless and sporting kiss-bitten, swollen lips as well as a glazed look in his eyes.

They pause when they spy Steve standing there, poised to strike with the lamp in his hand. Steve does his best not to look directly at them, especially after he notices how aroused the two men are.

"I was gonna go see him, I swear," Clint says. "But he intercepted me!"

Phil's mouth curves upward, just the slightest bit. He has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. "I intercepted him."

Steve exhales and shuts his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "I _do_ have a guest room, you know."

"But sleeping in the bathtub and having sex in the kitchen are so much more creative," Clint says.

"How many peanut butter sandwiches have I watched you make on this counter? With my Wonder Bread?"

Phil's cheeks begin to turn a subtle shade of pink. "We're sorry, Captain. We'll take it into the guest room. Or better yet, my place, if that's—"

"Are you kidding? We're about to have amazing 'I thought you died but now you're back' sex! We can't press pause right in the middle of it and go to another borough!"

"The guest room is fine, just." Steve waves toward the fallen toaster. "Try not to hurt any other innocent bystanders."

"Always thinking of the little guy, Cap," Clint says, ushering Phil off the counter. "And I don't mean me. I'm not little." He grins cheekily and Phil rolls his eyes as he's led away into the spare room.

There's no going back to sleep after that. Steve sits on his bed and takes a moment to be grateful for the thick, pre-war walls of his apartment. He picks up his phone with the sudden, strange urge to call Tony, but he ends up doing nothing, staring at the powerful little rectangle in the palm of his hand. He thinks about how epically he screwed up at dinner. He thinks about Tony. Steve can practically hear Tony's voice in his head, laced with sarcasm.

_I know, I know. 'I watched you diiiie.'_

"God, Phil, fuuuuuuuuuuck," is what he hears in real life. Steve blinks, spares an annoyed glance at the walls, which are very much _not_ doing their job, and gets dressed to go out in record time.

A hot dog for breakfast sounds like a plan.

*

A few days later, some horrific, seaweed-laden _thing_ emerges from the East River and nearly takes out the Queensboro Bridge. Steve gets a call from Coulson, who simply says, with all severity implied, "Avengers assemble," and the two words coming out of his mouth send a shiver down Steve's spine.

Long Island City gets the brunt of the damage with a few felled office buildings and condominiums. It feels strange not to fight with Iron Man at their side but the rest of them (minus Thor, who's busy back in Asgard doing Thor things) do a fairly quick and tidy job of taking out the monster, despite the Hulk clearly wanting to get out some pent-up aggression and smash everything in sight. Steve finds himself in front of the remains of what was probably a very nice renovated loft space. He comms the others, who have ended up a couple of blocks away. Coulson is also near, with his eagle eyes on all of them.

"We good?" he asks, pushing back his cowl. He wipes at a trickle of sweat on his forehead, which turns out to be blood. All that falling debris was difficult to avoid.

"We're good," Coulson confirms. "Nice work, folks."

"Jeez, don't these monsters know we're in a recession?" Clint says, exasperated. "Stop breaking all our shit already."

"I volunteer you to go into the river and tell his friends that," Natasha says.

"We've already got intel on our monster's creator, so hopefully we can put the kibosh on any friends joining the party," Coulson says. "I brought spare pants for Bruce, whenever we find him. Let's clear out and get containment efforts on the—oh, shit. Captain, falling debris! Take cover!"

Steve blinks in surprise and looks up to see a huge chunk of the loft's façade crumbling, about to rain down on his head. For a split-second, he doesn't know if he'll make it—the rubble is already on its way, too much too soon. He grabs his shield and drops down to a crouch, praying that the cover will be enough to deflect the largest pieces of concrete. He shuts his eyes tightly and waits, until he hears a series of zapping sounds, followed by explosions and a distinct lack of rocks on his head. When Steve dares to look up, he's shocked to find Iron Man crouching next to him—the big hero in the red and gold suit himself, coated in a fine layer of dust from the wreckage.

"Tony," he says with a gasp. "Where did you—"

"Over here," Tony calls from across the street, running to meet him. "Sorry I'm late. Can't get to the scene of the crime as quickly when I'm out of the suit. You know, I knew the East River was always secretly plotting against us, biding its time."

"Actually you were right on time," Steve says. He drops his shield and stands, sighing. "Thanks. Would've taken me a long time to bounce back from that one."

"Well, you know, I do what I can." Tony's eyes flit up to the cut along Steve's hairline and his jaw tightens. "So, hey, on the bright side, you look like shit."

Steve can't help but crack a smile at that. "How is that a bright side?"

"Because it helps me feel a lot less intimidated to admit to you that I went about this whole thing all wrong."

"Tony, what…" Steve starts to say. He's interrupted by the others rushing over to see what transpired.

"The fuck?" Clint says. "I thought you weren't going to fight with us anymore, Stark."

"I thought you destroyed all your suits," Natasha says, her eyebrow raised.

Tony rolls his eyes and nods to Coulson and Bruce, who amble over to join them. Bruce, thankfully, is wearing the new pants. Tony does some pointing and clicking on his StarkPad and the Iron Man drone takes off into the sky.

"Well, of course I didn't destroy _all_ of them," he says, still playing with his StarkPad. "Can't let you folks hog all the fun. Plus, what if I need one for emergencies? Like to prevent giant buildings from crushing Cap's pretty yellow head?"

"Does Pepper know?" Bruce asks, putting his glasses back on.

"Yeah, she knows. Believe me, it was a long conversation. But she gets it." He shrugs and folds his arms across his chest. "She gets me, so."

"Very fortunate for all us," Coulson says. Steve can't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he's pretty sure that Coulson is amused. "All right, take two: Let's clear the area. Captain, go see one of the medics about that cut."

"I'll be okay."

"Don't be a red, white, and blue idiot," Tony says, grabbing his arm and steering him toward the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical van down the street. "You're gonna get that taken care of and then you're coming back to the tower and all good little Steviebears are gonna rest their eyes and get a good night's sleep."

"I am? I mean…they are?"

"Damn straight. And no fancy, expensive dinners await you, I promise. Just a hot bath and takeout from Five Guys and maybe a movie, if you feel up to it."

Steve has to admit, that does sound more his speed. He sits down and a medic immediately starts fluttering around him, going for cotton swabs. Steve doesn't pay her any mind; he just smiles up at Tony. "So…is this a date?" he asks.

"Here we go, with the questions. Why does it matter so much? Why do you need to define everything?"

"Well, I've never been on a date before," Steve says. He squints at the sting of alcohol on his cut. "So I'd like to make sure."

Tony just smirks and hands something to the medic, which Steve glimpses as a hundred-dollar bill. "Make sure you leave him in one piece. Got it?"

"Sir, I can't accept tips," the medic says. Tony walks away and ignores her.

"Keep it," Steve says. "I won't tell anyone." She looks at him, amazed, and Steve realizes that Tony might be rubbing off on him, just a bit. He thinks of how Tony would turn that into a dirty joke and laughs to himself, and then he knows for sure that Tony's bad influence is at work.

At any rate, he can't help but smile through the pain of the medic's stitches. Tony may not want to give him a real answer, but where Steve comes from, dinner and a movie equals a date.

"Why are you smiling so much?" Clint shouts from across the street. "Are you concussed?"

"I don't think so," Steve calls back.

"Cap, how many fingers am I holding up? Can you—OW!"

"Natasha, don't break those fingers," Coulson says. "They're very valuable."

"Gross!" Tony yells before he gets in his car.

Steve never stops smiling.

*

There's an odd moment, just before Steve emerges from the guest bedroom into the lounge where Tony and Pepper are waiting, when he recalls the night not so long ago, when Tony wouldn't even pause in eating his pizza to shake Steve's hand. Now he's just had a long, hot bath in one of Avengers Tower's many, many gargantuan tubs (which probably would have been much more comfortable for Clint) and he's about to eat greasy cheeseburgers and fries with Tony and his girlfriend, all while wearing the pajama set that JARVIS laid out on the bed for him.

Also, they're Iron Man pajamas. Of course.

"Really?" he asks as he emerges from the bedroom. "This is what you picked out?"

"What?" Tony says, already digging into the fries. "You look extremely fashionable. The gold is really your color. Brings out the…gold in your…hair."

Beside him, Pepper giggles into her palm. "You look _adorable_ , Steve."

"Like a sexy toddler on steroids," Tony says.

"That's the worst combination of words I've ever heard," Steve says. He blushes all the same.

"There's more where that came from, baby. Stick with me and you'll be horrified for all your days."

Pepper rolls her eyes. "Romantic, isn't he?"

"Something like that." Steve sits on the sofa, on the other side of Pepper, and his mouth waters when he sees the salty delights waiting for them on the table. For good measure, there's a candelabra in the midst of their spread. Steve grins. "Speaking of romantic," he says, gesturing to it.

"Only the best for my houseguests," Tony says. "So I got one burger each for the normal folks and two for you. Also, we have enough fries to rival Mount Everest, so that oughta hold you 'til your midnight snack, at least."

"Stop that. He's very normal," Pepper says.

"He's, like, one bad mission away from falling back on a career as a competitive eater."

"I could probably eat three or four of these," Steve admits, unwrapping a burger. "But two is more than fine." He takes a huge bite out of the sandwich and doesn't realize Pepper is staring at him until mid-chew.

"He's kind of a freak," Tony says, smiling wryly. "But he's America's freak."

"Why is that so attractive?" Pepper whispers to him.

"A man and his meat. Tale as old as time."

Steve nearly chokes but no one pays it any mind.

Pepper picks the movie since Tony always gets to pick, apparently. Steve has no preference, seeing as how he's viewed less than one percent of all movies ever made. It's some sort of romantic "dramedy," as Pepper calls it, whatever that means. It's fairly engrossing but once the food is gone and Tony stops interjecting with his bizarre observations, Steve feels the pull of sleep overtaking him. He hasn't gotten much rest since Clint and Phil's little reunion in his kitchen and the urge to rest his eyes is powerful. He lets his eyelids droop for what he assumes will only be a second or two, but when they crack open again, he can tell that some time has passed. The movie is still playing but Pepper is curled against his side, small and warm, her head at rest where his shoulder meets his bicep. Tony sits a few cushions away on the horseshoe-shaped sofa, nursing a drink and pointedly not watching the movie. Instead, he's staring at Steve and Pepper through half-lidded eyes, swirling the last of the amber liquid around in his glass. He has an inscrutable look on his face and Steve gets the sinking feeling he's done something very wrong here.

"I can…I can move," he murmurs. "Do my best not to disturb her."

"Why?" Tony asks, blinking out of his reverie. "No, don't. Why? Don't."

"Well, you were staring."

Tony shakes his head and finishes off his drink. "Not because of that. Was just, you know. Enjoying the view." Tony ducks his head, sighing at the look on Steve's face, which Steve can tell is incredibly dopey, even without looking. "I mean, Jesus. Do you even know how annoyingly gorgeous…ugh. Actually. What's _really_ annoying is what a massive idiot I am."

"Okay," Steve says, laughing faintly. "I won't argue with that. But why this time?"

"Oh, just the usual." Tony shrugs and keeps his head down. "Hauling nukes into outer space, declaring war on national television. Not thinking about all the things I could be missing. All the people."

"Right," Steve says, letting out a gust of breath. Once again, Tony is going so fast that he's not sure he can keep up. Or maybe Steve is right there with him for once. "Tony, I have a lot of, um, feelings about you. Maybe more feelings than I've ever had about someone since…well, since before."

"Well, I hope they're as happy and shiny as my feelings, or my feelings are going to feel like outcasts. Just one thing, though—and this is important." He motions to Pepper. "We're a package deal. You know that, right? Non-negotiable. We've been through too much. She's, uh…" He motions to his chest, where the arc reactor used to dwell. "She's in there, way too deep. Hell, she lives there."

And Steve knows that, of course. He knows it all too well, and it's partly why he ran away in the first place. He's a big guy, after all. He takes up a lot of room. Steve swallows and peers down at Pepper, who looks utterly perfect nestled against him—so perfect that he's amazed Tony would even think of sharing her. Or that she would want to be shared, because Tony's pretty incredible, too. He has no idea how he ended up here, in Tony's self-referential pajamas, on his ridiculously expensive couch, filled to the brim with red meat, fried potatoes, and jaw-dropping awe for these two insanely beautiful people who seem to _want_ him in a way he's always assumed he could never be wanted. But. Here he is.

He could run away again. He doesn't want to run away again. But he also really wants to be sure.

"We should talk about this," he says. "Should we talk about this?"

"No," Pepper mumbles into Steve's pajama top. "Let's go to bed." She wraps an arm around his middle and Steve almost twitches before he realizes that this, whatever it is, is allowed. It's _okay_. And it's really, really nice.

"Well," Tony says, with a smack to the sofa. "You heard the lady. Less talk, more bed. Up you go."

"To _sleep_ ," Pepper says. She yawns and pats Steve's shoulder and he feels an absence where her head was previously resting against him. "I'm exhausted and Steve's had a big day of fighting sea monsters."

"A sea monster a day keeps city taxes high. Okay, sleep it is. I'll just tuck you two in and head down to the—"

"No lab," Pepper and Steve say in unison. Tony scoffs while Pepper gives Steve a fond smile that reminds him of their adventure in the hospital.

"You, Steve Rogers. I think I'd like to keep you."

Steve fights a truly massive blush. "I might not mind being kept."

"I take it back," Tony says, with a sweep of his arm. "This is a bad idea. I have no use for a chorus of naysayers around here. Send him back to the land of craft beer, ironic T-shirts, and wooden eyeglasses."

"Too late," Pepper declares. "Steve, will you please escort Mr. Stark to his bed?"

"With pleasure, Ms. Potts."

Steve ends up hoisting Tony over his shoulder and carrying him to bed, much to Pepper's delight and Tony's indignant dismay. They leave the movie playing and when they're out of the lounge, JARVIS shuts it off.

*

When Steve opens his eyes, it's morning and he isn't quite sure where he is. He's definitely not in his apartment. When he feels the warmth of other bodies, he remembers he's not in the guest bedroom either. The brief, feckless argument he'd had with Tony and Pepper about where he should sleep—because the guest bedroom was more than fine, _really_ , but they kept _insisting_ —ended with him falling squarely on the losing side.

Which explains why he's currently in Tony and Pepper's massive bed. And why Pepper's smooth, lithe legs are wound around his own. And why Tony is spooned up behind her, looking—and Steve wouldn't believe it if he wasn't seeing it with his own eyes—well rested. In fact, Tony is peering over Pepper's shoulder at Steve. And when he sees Steve looking back at him, the arm he's got slung over Pepper's waist shifts just the smallest bit—just enough so Tony can reach out and lightly skim his fingertips over the exposed sliver of skin between Steve's clothes. Steve shivers in response, his lip catching between his teeth, and he realizes he's mostly hard beneath his pajamas. Tony's gaze is partly questioning but mostly hungry. For a couple of minutes, Steve just lets Tony touch him, growing accustomed to the slow-burning arousal that begins to coil inside him.

"You still wanna talk?" Tony murmurs after a while. Steve bites back a laugh.

"Not really, no. Not anymore."

"I talk, literally, all the time. I can assure you it's highly overrated."

The voices cause Pepper to stir and she lifts her head groggily. She pauses when she feels Steve's hardness against her thigh. "Well, good morning to _me_ ," she says.

"Good morning, America," Tony adds. "And trust me, this is a much better show. See? Me with the talking."

"What happened to 'less talk, more bed?'" Pepper says. She kisses him quiet, then turns to Steve and pushes his bangs back from his forehead. "Did you sleep well?" she asks. She smiles when he nods. "Good. Do you want to stay a while longer?"

"Please," Steve says. He feels lucky that it comes out properly and not as a croak. "If you don't mind."

"Rogers. I've been feeling you up for the past ten minutes. Does it look like I mind?"

"Stop it already and kiss him," Pepper says. "You're such a tease."

Tony scoffs and leans closer to Steve once Pepper shifts upright and out of the way. Steve can feel his pulse speed up but at the same time, he knows everything is okay, that he's safe. That he wants this more than anything. The clarity is almost blinding.

"Ms. Potts can be very bossy in bed," Tony says. "I happen to like it because I'm a smart cookie. Something tells me you'll like it, too."

"I like it already."

Steve shoots them a grin and Tony leans in and swiftly kisses it off his face. The quick, hot slide of his tongue into Steve's mouth has him moaning lowly, his fingers grabbing at Tony's T-shirt as he tries to hold on to some part of him.

"Shit, and you make noise, too?" Tony says, breaking the kiss and moving along Steve's jaw. "God, you're like Christmas coated in candy."

Pepper laughs as she leans down, practically draping herself over Steve, and she pulls his mouth towards hers with a tug to his chin. She tastes different than Tony—sweeter, the way he remembers the U.S.O. girls tasted—and her lips are softer but much gentler, too. Steve already knows he won't be able to get enough of either of them. Tony's stubble rubs along the sensitive skin of Steve's neck and he arches further into his kisses with Pepper, keeping one hand on each of their hips. He wants to stay connected however he can.

"We need to get these ridiculous pajamas off you," Pepper says into Steve's mouth and he laughs, lifting his arms. "Tony, take off his shirt."

"With pleasure." Tony's hands are warm and Steve shivers as the top comes off. "Jesus," Tony says, tossing it away. "It's ridiculous how perfect you are. American craftsmanship at its finest."

"You're going to make him blush," Pepper says.

She tugs off her nightie and Steve just has to spend a minute looking at the two of them, because _they're_ the perfect ones. Pepper's skin is like cream, her strawberry-blond hair cascading like silk over her shoulders. And Tony—Steve marvels at how he manages to look rugged yet coiffed at the same time, majorly pulling off the goatee that would probably look ridiculous on anyone else. Tony's been shirtless all along but Steve notices his surgery scar for the first time. It's surprisingly faint, considering how long Tony had the reactor embedded in his chest. Steve touches it without thinking and Tony swallows, shaking his head.

"Can't feel it," he says. "It—it's numb there."

Steve shakes his head. "Tony. We all know it's not."

Tony exhales as Pepper leans in to kiss him deeply. The view is gorgeous from where Steve's sitting. He's careful not to take his eyes off them as he pulls off his pajama pants. After a moment's consideration, he discards his boxer shorts, too. It's been a while since anyone—aside from some S.H.I.E.L.D. medics, maybe—has had such an intimate look at him. Pepper reaches down, without breaking their kiss, and gently strokes her fingertips along the length of Steve's cock, which seems to strain toward her in response. Steve muffles a groan into Tony's shoulder as he carefully slides his hand up to Pepper's breast, cupping its curve and thumbing her nipple. Her pleased sigh goes straight to his groin.

"I don't mean to brag," Tony says, "but I developed a number of schematics for this exact scenario, all of which map out the various possibilities for how we might proceed. I could share them with the class, if you're interested."

"You planned out our sex?" Steve asks. He laughs because that is so weirdly _Tony_.

"I told you he was romantic," Pepper says, grinning.

"I thought it might lessen the odds of awkwardness! It's nice to have a game plan in your back pocket, just in case." Tony leans in and nips at Steve's clavicle."But you're the guest. You should decide."

Steve shakes his head and continues to play with Pepper's nipples, both of them now, loving the way she responds to his touch. "I'm a big fan of lady's choice," he says. "So whatever Pepper wants, I'm game."

"I want to ride you," Pepper says immediately. She pins them both with a lusty gaze, arching her back. "While you suck Tony's cock."

Steve nearly chokes on his own breath. "Smart lady," he whispers.

"So fucking full of good ideas," Tony says, already diving for the bedside drawers and the supplies they'll need. He comes back with a fistful of condoms and a bottle of lubrication. "Riding Steve while he sucks me was plan 4A, by the way."

Pepper smirks and plucks a condom from his grasp. "And what if you wait to come and then fuck him after I'm done?"

"4B," Tony says, swallowing. "And by the way: I love you, like, a lot?"

"I know you do—oh, oh, _yes_ ," Pepper gasps. Steve smiles proudly. While they were chitchatting about plan numbers, Steve slicked his fingers with the lube and now he has one pressed inside Pepper. She feels like heaven and Steve can't believe just putting his _finger_ inside her feels this good. "Another," she says, and Steve obliges, curling them gently as she rocks her hips down.

"Okay, you sneaky bastard," Tony says, looking awestruck. "You've officially astounded me. You happy now?"

Steve bites his lip. If he were to tell Tony how absolutely _insanely_ happy he is, Tony would never let him hear the end of it.

"We don't need those, you know," he says instead, motioning with his chin to the condoms. "I'm happy to use them but I can't receive or transmit any diseases."

"Oh, hey," Tony says. He flings all of the condoms behind him. Pepper rolls her eyes.

"Okay, but when—" She sucks in a sharp breath as Steve brushes his thumb against the edge of her clit. She's absolutely gorgeous. "When was the last time you had sex?"

He swallows. "Um. 1943."

"Put it on him," she says, handing her condom to Tony. "Just in case. And hurry."

"Oh, fine." Really, though, Tony doesn't seem to mind doing it, what with the way he takes Steve's cock in his hand and strokes slowly, with a mild squeeze and deft twist of his wrist that makes Steve's eyes roll back in his head. Tony licks his lips as he opens and rolls on the condom, adding some more lubrication for good measure, and Steve almost whimpers when his skilled hands go away again. "Okay, kids. Everyone ready?"

"I'm g—oh, _god_." Steve moans as Pepper takes him by surprise, sinking down on his length almost immediately after he removes his fingers from between her legs. She feels like liquid bliss and he clenches his teeth, willing all his muscles to remain still so he doesn't buck wildly. Pepper is flushed, her hair sticking to her neck, and she's an absolute vision, taking what she wants from him. Steve is happy to give her _everything_.

"God, you feel good," she murmurs, working her hips. "Jesus, 4A is the best."

Steve chuckles and arches his neck back. True, he hasn't had sex in seventy years, but he doesn't remember it being this much _fun_. It's exactly what he wants and needs. He gets caught up in the slow, rhythmic slide and pull of his cock inside Pepper, until he feels someone—Tony—sliding a pillow beneath his head. When Steve turns toward him, he sees Tony kneeling on the mattress, stroking his thick shaft. It's been an equally long time since Steve sucked someone off, but his mouth waters all the same.

"Ready for my cock, Rogers?" Tony asks. Steve nods eagerly and Tony half-grins as he feeds it to him. Steve sighs as the hot flesh fills his mouth, making Tony shudder. "Fuck. Remember: Don't make me come. Virginia's orders."

"Damn right," Pepper says. She peers down at them and scratches her nails against Steve's stomach. "Man, that's pretty."

Steve rolls his hips and his tongue at once and loses himself in the oddly erotic sensation of being used for their pleasure. In any other circumstance, it might be uncomfortable or unwanted, but he knows Tony and Pepper care about him—that they're going to take care _of_ him. Steve feels lighter and less burdened than he has in a long time. He watches Tony kiss Pepper languidly and he slides his hand between Pepper's thighs, to rub teasingly at her clit. Steve feels a little thrill when Pepper moans into her kiss with Tony and he sucks at the head of Tony's cock to make him moan as well.

"Can't believe I used to think you were a virgin, Cap," Tony says breathlessly. Steve makes a noise of protest around his dick and Tony groans from the vibrations. "Okay, no virgin jokes. God, I'm gonna come in, like, two seconds here."

Steve pulls back with a wet gasp when Tony says that because, well, he's under strict orders. He wipes at his chin with his forearm. "Help me make her come," he says, slightly hoarse.

"Holy shit. Captain America has a sex voice."

"Tony, _please_ ," Pepper moans. "I'm close…"

Steve swears he can see Tony's eyes dilate as he shifts to join Steve in teasing Pepper closer to orgasm. He makes a mental note that Tony seems to _really_ enjoy getting bossed around in bed. Tony's fingers join his, rubbing against Pepper's clit and Steve's cock, and Steve breathes harshly through his nose, trying to hold off on his own orgasm and get Pepper there first. Tony leans in to whisper in her ear and Steve can only imagine what filthy things he's saying, given the way she clutches his wrist and rides Steve even harder and faster. Steve lets himself buck the way he wants to and soon Pepper is clenching around him in waves, crying out loudly as she comes with Tony's lips pressed to her ears. Steve does his best not to come but it's been much too long and Pepper feels much too good and he can't fight the fireball churning inside him. He throws his arm across his eyes and arches as he releases—and that just sets Pepper off again, her fluttering aftershock making his orgasm feel endless.

"Oh, my god, my dick is going to explode," is the first thing Steve hears when he comes back to himself. Steve laughs until Pepper kisses him, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. He can feel someone—probably Tony—removing his condom, and he shudders, quite sensitive. "Oh, pumpkin. Don't tell me that super serum gave you a super schlong, too."

And…okay, yeah, he's still somewhat hard. "That, uh, has been known to happen," he says. He moves to turn over, still a little dazed. "Should I…?"

"Whatever floats your boat, sugar pie."

Steve turns, if only to get off his back for a while, and Pepper slips the pillow beneath his knees. He smiles, about to say thanks, when Tony's slick finger begins to circle his hole and all rational thought goes out the window. "Sh-shit," he whispers, shifting his thighs without any preamble. Pepper covers her mouth as she laughs.

"Not only cursing, but cursing while spreading his legs," Tony says, stroking between Steve's ass cheeks. "Yeah, that's one for the spank bank."

Steve flushes and drops his head forward as Tony continues to toy with him. He's stiff as a rock again in no time at all. "Please, Tony," he whispers.

"Begging, too," Pepper murmurs, playing with Steve's hair. "We're definitely keeping you, honey."

For some reason, her words make Steve spread his knees wider. Tony pushes inside him with two lubed fingers, stretching him out and making him mewl into the mattress. Steve rocks back with a needy moan as two turns into three, feeling all lit up inside. By the time Tony enters him, slow and fluid, Steve feels like he's the one who's going to explode.

"Fuck, you're tight," Tony grunts once he's all the way inside. "But good. So fucking good. God, Pep, you gotta see for yourself and peg him one day. 2A. It would be amazing."

"Actually, I have an idea," Pepper says. She reaches over to the nightstand to retrieve one of the fallen condoms and gets it on Steve in record time. Then she shimmies beneath him, wrapping her legs around both of them. "What number is this?" she asks, tugging them both closer. Steve's cock brushes against her wet clit and he thinks he can feel sparks.

"I don’t—I didn't even think of this. 4D? 4D. Bless you, 4D."

Pepper wraps her arms around Steve's broad shoulders and holds on tight. "What was 4C?"

"This, with him eating you out."

"Definitely another time," Steve moans.

They lose the banter as they fall into a rhythm—Tony fucking his way expertly in and out of Steve's ass and Pepper matching their movements, arching up when Steve's hips roll downward, creating delicious friction. Steve feels like his skin is too tight, like he's going to fall apart from all the pleasure and agony and affection swirling inside him. Tony drapes himself along Steve's back, using his brilliant, callused hands to open Steve up even more. Steve gasps and thrusts his hips, completely sandwiched between his two favorite people in the world and loving every second of it. When Tony changes up his angle, Steve's body sings. Pepper grabs onto his shoulders for dear life and grinds up against his dick.

" _Yesssss_ ," she hisses, her body spasming. Steve's eyelashes flutter as he watches her and feels her wetness spread. Behind him, Tony moans into the crook of Steve's neck and thrusts harder, letting his baser instincts take the wheel. Steve shuts his eyes and pushes back hard to drive Tony deeper inside him.

"Cap," Tony moans, one hand in Steve's hair and the other clamped around his hip. " _Steve_." His teeth graze Steve's shoulder as he holds on tight and comes, panting next to Steve's ear. His heart—and god, how good it is to feel Tony's heart—beats rapidly against Steve's spine, grounding him.

Steve loses some track of time after that, his cock throbbing and his own heart thumping in time with the ache in his ass after Tony pulls out. Before he knows it, Tony's discarded Steve's condom and hauled him upright, an arm wound tightly around Steve's chest and a hand wrapped around his cock. Pepper joins them, her palm sliding down to his balls and Steve thinks this is it—he can die now. And not from scurvy, thank goodness.

"Gonna come for us again?" Tony murmurs in his ear. Steve thinks back to Tony whispering to Pepper earlier and he knows he's a goner. "Yeah, you are. You're gonna come, all over yourself, all over us. Because you belong to us, Steve. _With_ us. Right here is where you belong, and you always have. Now, give it up, babe. You hear me? Fucking _let go_."

Steve comes with Tony's voice in his ears, Pepper's soft lips on his throat, and fireworks blasting behind his eyelids. They're all colored red and gold.

*

"I dunno, Cap," Clint says. He hoists a box filled with kitchen supplies onto the island counter and grabs a magic marker to label it. "If I were you, I would keep the place. Could be nice to have a place to escape to every now and then."

"I don't need a place to escape," Steve says. And the best part is that he means it. For months, that's all this apartment was to him. Now it seems like a waste of space. "Someone else could use it more than me, I'm sure. I've outgrown it."

Tony walks through the front door and dusts his hands off. "Well, don't grow too much, Cap, or we won't be able to fit you into the tower after all."

"Or in Tony's butt," Clint adds.

"Watch it, Cupid. You're dangerously close to getting ejected yourself, what with all the rhythmic thumping coming from your bedroom every damn night. We're right below your floor, you know."

Clint shrugs and wraps the blender in bubble wrap. "I'm a man of insatiable desires. So bite me."

"I'll leave that to Agent Handsy."

"Cap still gets his own floor, right?" Natasha says. She walks out of the bathroom with another box in tow. "Even though he gets to crash with you and Pepper?"

Tony nods. "He can have as much personal space as he likes; I promised him that. I told him he can even get a dog or something if he gets bored."

"Wow," Clint says. "Personal space, penis, and a puppy. The three Ps. What more could a guy want?"

"Pussy," Natasha says.

"He'll have that, too."

"The four Ps! Cap, you're gonna live like a _king_."

Steve flushes as he tapes another box shut. "Please, can we just finish packing before I change my mind and hide out here forever?"

"As long as you don't hide in the bathtub," Natasha says, pinching Clint's side as she strolls by. He squawks and brandishes the marker at her.

"All right, children," Tony announces. "You heard the Captain. The faster we get these last boxes down to the moving van, the faster I can hop into bed with my hot-ass girlfriend and boyfriend and get away from the unwashed masses of this godforsaken borough."

"The unwashed masses who pay three thousand dollars in rent per month," Natasha quips.

"That's not how much this place costs, right?" Steve asks, looking around. "Gosh. I mean, the toilet barely flushes."

Clint sighs as he picks up two boxes. "I gotta say, I'm gonna miss this place. Me and that fire escape had some good times. Me and the bathtub had some good times. Hell, me and the fridge had some _great_ times. Oh, and don't worry, Cap; we got your Wonder Bread in tow."

"Don't know what he'd do without _that_ ," Tony says.

"Come on, Barton," Natasha says. She takes three boxes into her arms, just because she can. "You can cry your manly separation anxiety tears in the van."

"Don't think I won't."

Tony snorts as they leave. He looks down at the last two boxes, grabbing one. "Well, I'll let you have a moment to say goodbye to your little castle on a cloud, here."

"Don't need to," Steve says, shrugging. "It served its purpose, this place, but I'm done with it now. I have a better place to call home."

"You're renouncing Brooklyn _and_ getting sappy on me? My dick must either be magical or made out of gold. Anyone seen Loki around here?"

Steve laughs and yanks the box out of Tony's hands, putting it on the counter. Then he grabs him by his jacket collar and tugs him close. "Stop deflecting," Steve murmurs, kissing him gently. Tony makes a soft sound in the back of his throat as he kisses back and Steve knows his point has been taken, albeit with some difficulty.

They both jump when they feel something buzz in Tony's pants.

"It's my phone! It's my phone. I promise I'll warn you if I ever smuggle a vibrator in my pants. Well, maybe." He presses the video call button and Pepper's face appears on the screen. "Yes, my dearest darling?"

"You two had better not be having sex in that apartment without me," she says.

"The thought never crossed my mind. Not once. I can't speak for Captain Americock but I'm a pure soul."

Steve elbows him. "Don't worry; there's not even a bed here."

"Actually, there's the kitchen island," Tony says.

"Clint and Agent Coulson nearly had sex on it."

"Okay, well, _I'm_ never getting an erection again. How's everyone else doing?"

"Just hurry up and come home, you two," Pepper says, laughing. Tony salutes and presses a noisy kiss to the phone's screen before he hangs up. The words _come home_ echo in Steve's ears and he decides he really enjoys the sound of them.

"You heard the lady," Tony says. "Less talk, more home."

"Got it." Steve tosses his keys atop the kitchen island, as per the landlord's instructions. Despite the heaviness of his last box, he feels lighter as soon as the keys leave his hand. "You know they didn't actually have sex. I stopped them."

"Oh, god. Captain Boner Killer returns."

"It was cute!"

"Zero tolerance policy," Tony says, rushing out of the apartment. "Your puppy privileges are hereby revoked. Protect your remaining Ps while you can."

Steve rolls his eyes in mild exasperation as he shuts the door for the last time. As always, Tony's got a head start, already halfway down the stairs, but for once, it's easy enough for Steve to catch up with him.


End file.
